“Something like that.”
Looks Away studied him.
“And,” said Grey, “there was that blue flash.”
Now the Indian smiled.
“Oh yes,” said Looks Away. “There was that.”
Grey said, “I heard something when whatever it was blew up.”
“Did you?”
“Sounded like all the devils in hell screaming at once.”
Looks Away said nothing.
Grey said, “This is about ghost rock, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Looks Away. “And… no. It’s not as simple as that.”
“In my experience,” said Grey, “it never is.”
Chapter Six
“Which is it?”
Looks Away cleared his throat. “How much do you know about ghost rock?”
“A bit, same as most folks. Some kind of rare stone. Burns like coal, but hotter. With more oomph.”
“An understatement.”
“Lot of folks want it,” said Grey. “Lot of folks been killed over it.”
“In my experience,” said Looks Away, “people will kill each other over almost any damn thing. In England, in Limehouse, I saw two men slash each other to red ribbons over a slut with venereal disease and a face like the south end of a donkey. People kill over scraps of food. And, as a member of the Sioux, I can tell you what you white folks have been willing to kill for.”
“Okay, so people are a mess. Not exactly telegraph news. But I’ve seen ghost rock up close. Twice. It’s black with white veins running through it. It doesn’t burn with a blue light, at least not that I’ve ever heard of.”
“Yes, well there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio.”
“That’s from that fellow Shakespeare,” said Grey.
Looks Away laughed. “A literate cowboy. I am in awe.”
“A funny Indian,” said Grey. “I’m… I’m…” He stopped and rubbed his eyes. “There was a joke there but my head hurts too much to go looking for it.”
They stood for a moment, looking at the smoking pile of rocks. The only sound was Picky munching quietly.
“So,” said Grey, “care to tell me about all this? Posse. Ghost rock. Explosion. Start anywhere.”
Grey walked over to one of the boulders, reached behind it, and came out with two heavy saddlebags. “These no longer have owners.”
He placed them on the ground, squatted down, opened them, and began removing tin cooking pans, a sack of beans, smoked beef, and a silver flask that sloshed when he shook it.
“It’s a long story that shouldn’t be shared when either hungry or sober,” said Looks Away.
Grey smiled. “Fair enough.”
They worked together to build a fire on the side of the rock pile farthest from the corpses. From the surviving horses of the posse they found enough water to cook beans and soften the beef, and even enough to make pan biscuits. As the sun tumbled behind the far mountains they settled down to wash badly cooked food down with even worse back-alley whiskey. As he drank, Thomas Looks Away told his story.
“I grew up in the Sioux Nation, of course,” he said. “Learned all of the traditional skills from my father and grandfather, and from more uncles than I can count. Hunting, fishing, stalking, fighting. I even did some fighting with patrols along our borders. I’m sure you know how it is, old chap — in this world there’s always someone who wants what you have and is willing to take it rather than buy it or earn it.”
“So I’ve heard,” agreed Grey with a laugh. They tapped tin cups and washed that truth down with whiskey.
“When I was about twenty, two things happened,” said Looks Away, drifting back into his tale. He removed his bowler hat and as he spoke, slowly turned it like a wheel, running the brim between thumb and forefinger. “First, I had a wee bit of a dispute with one of my cousins. An irascible fellow named Big Water. Hard words were exchanged, then there was a spot of violence, and, well…”
“What was the dispute about?”
“What else?” said Looks Away. “What do men always go crazy and fight about?”
“Gold?”
“Women,” corrected the Sioux.
“Fair enough.”
“We both liked the same girl. Big Water had land, horses, lots to offer.”
“And you—?”
“Not to be too indelicate, but I helped her get into the family way, as they say.”
“Helped?”
Looks Away gave him a roguish grin. “She was a very lovely and painfully naïve little thing.”
“And—?”
“Big Water took it amiss.”
“Amiss. Is that where the violence came in?” asked Grey.
“It was. I left Big Water a tad dented and felt it was a prime opportunity to see the world. Which I did. I drifted east and in Philadelphia I met a chap who was putting together a Wild West show to take to England. Splendid little fellow by the name of Barnum. He made me a rather enticing offer and before I could say ‘heap big wampum’ I was on a ship to London. Spent many happy years there playing everything from the Noble Savage to the Wild Savage to the Last of the Red Men. Often in the same show. Along the way I took the opportunity to better myself and even got a degree from Exeter.”
“A degree in what?”
“Natural philosophy, with an emphasis on chemistry and geological studies.”
Grey sipped his whiskey. “You’re a scientist?”
“Amateur natural philosopher I believe is the correct phrase.”
“Well… holy shit.”
“Indeed.”
“Let me guess,” mused Grey, “that’s what brought you back to America. Chemistry and geological studies, I mean. You’re prospecting?”
“Correct.”
“For ghost rock?”
“Also correct,” said Looks Away.
Night had fallen around them like a blanket, leeching away the heat of the day and leaving in its place a moistureless cold. Somewhere out in the blackness something scuttled across the dry sand. Above them the sky was littered with ten billion stars, but even these burning suns looked like chips of ice scattered on a piece of black basalt. Grey got up and took a blanket from his saddle, wrapped it around his shoulders and sat back down. As an afterthought, he walked over to the rock on which Looks Away had arranged all of the guns. He retrieved his own, examined the barrel by firelight, blew through it, dumped out the bullets, and thumbed them back in after inspecting them for grit. Then he slid the gun into its holster. He did not do it with any of the fancy flourishes some men use. Grey was a skilled gunman but he wasn’t a showman. He picked up Riley’s little derringer and slipped that into his pants pocket. His knives were there, too, and he returned them to belt and boot sheaths. Then he went and sat back down. He was aware of Looks Away watching him with intelligent dark eyes. The Sioux made no comment about Grey taking back his weapons, and that told him a lot about their relationship. Maybe not yet friends, maybe not allies, but definitely two men at peace with one another. Fair enough.
“That explosion,” said Grey as he picked up his tin cup, “wasn’t ghost rock.”
“It was and it wasn’t.”
“You deliberately beating around the bush, or is that a British thing you came back with?”
Starlight sparkled from Looks Away’s white teeth. “A bit of both, I dare say.” He poured more whiskey into their cups, stared into his for a moment, sipped, sighed, and began speaking. “A lot of people are studying ghost rock, you know. Not just here in America, but all around the world. It’s not unfair to say that it is the most significant scientific discovery of the nineteenth century. It’s potentially one of the most important scientific discoveries of all time, and I am not exaggerating when I say that. Of all time.”